A Minuet
by Miss Maudlin
Summary: "Crane let go of her hand and began circling her, Abbie mimicking him. She had lost the feeling of embarrassment some moments ago, now fully concentrating on Crane. On him watching her, touching her elbow, circling her with an intensity that made her want to squirm. The dance transformed into something Abbie had never experienced before: it was like being courted, she thought."


A Minuet

Abbie rubbed her eyes and yawned. It was late—too late to be in the archive room, searching for information about a demon Irving had asked them to research. Glancing up, she saw Crane grimacing at his laptop. Abbie wondered if he'd stumbled onto another porn site; she might need to install parental controls on the stupid thing. She didn't have time to call IT to get rid of God only knows what virus Crane was downloading.

"Crane, what are you doing?"

Crane jumped and slammed the laptop closed. He cleared his throat. "Nothing of interest, Lieutenant."

Abbie raised a brow. Walking over to where Crane sat, she lifted the lid of the laptop, only to see a video of Miley Cyrus twerking. Somehow Crane had muted the sound, but it was Miley all right.

"Seriously?" Abbie just looked at Crane.

"I assure you, I was researching on the Google but I somehow found myself on this—what do you call it? _Youtube?_ And then this young lady—"

"Miley Cyrus."

"Yes, Miss Cyrus. What is she doing, precisely?" Crane seemed wholly bewildered.

Abbie laughed. "She's dancing, Crane."

Crane sputtered. "That is not _dancing,_ that is—"

"Well, technically it's twerking, but yeah, dancing."

"This century never ceases to horrify." Crane then turned back to the laptop and opened a browser. Hunting and pecking his long fingers across the keyboard (Abbie had to admit, he learned quickly), he entered "Bach Minuet G Major." A Youtube video popped up, and a song that sounded like it belonged in a Jane Austen adaptation began to play. Crane stood and offered his hand.

"Miss Mills, will you do me the honor of dancing?"

Abbie laughed and put up her hands. "No way. I don't know how to dance." She thought about her and Luke and their dances at Sleepy Hollow's one club. "Well, not that kind of dance."

Crane took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. He led her to the middle of the archive room. Abbie tried to pull away, but Crane's grip remained firm.

"A minuet is a simple dance. Follow my lead."

Abbie didn't know whether to laugh, surrender or run for the hills. "Crane, no."

Crane tsked. "So easily frightened? I did not expect this of the fearless Miss Mills, Lieutenant of the Sleepy Hollow Police Department."

Sighing and laughing, Abbie surrendered. "Fine, show me how to dance. But I won't promise not to step on your big-ass feet."

Crane merely bowed. Glancing up, he smiled. "Curtsy, Miss Mills."

Abbie grumbled. "I'm wearing jeans, how the hell can I curtsy—"

"Curtsy."

Abbie curtsied, feeling like a gigantic idiot. _I'm going to get you back for this, Crane._

Crane took her hand in his and began to lead her across the room. "A minuet consists of six steps: right, together, left, right, left, together." He demonstrated, his steps surprisingly elegant. Abbie watched his feet, internalizing the rhythm. Crane turned at the edge of the room, his hand still in hers. "Now, you try."

Abbie stepped with Crane, only stumbling a few times. It was awkward, dancing in boots and jeans and with a guy so much taller than her. She eventually got the steps down enough that she could look up from her feet. The 3/4 time beat in her brain until the movement captured her consciousness.

Crane smiled. "Excellent work, Miss Mills. Now, continue with those steps but instead we'll circle each other…"

Crane let go of her hand and began circling her, Abbie mimicking him. She had lost the feeling of embarrassment some moments ago, now fully concentrating on Crane. On him watching her, touching her elbow, circling her with an intensity that made her want to squirm. The dance transformed into something Abbie had never experienced before: it was like being courted, she thought. She was mesmerized: by his movement, by his eyes, by his elegant hands. _By him._

Abbie fell into a trance-like state as she danced with Crane, so much that when Crane took her hand again she stumbled on the steps, falling forward into his embrace. "Sorry," she muttered.

Crane caught her with his left hand. He let it linger on her back a moment longer than necessary, his palm a warm weight heavy against her. "No matter," he replied.

Abbie looked up, feeling like the world had shrunk until it was just them in all the universe, dancing a silly dance with each other. There were no demons, or horseman, or apocalypse. _Or wife, _Abbie's mind reminded her.

Pulling abruptly away, Abbie nervously brushed the hair out of her face. The music had stopped, and silence surrounded them. Abbie looked at Crane: his gaze contained a mixture of confusion, embarrassment, and longing. She didn't want to think about what her face showed.

"Um, thanks for that," Abbie ventured.

Crane bowed and then took her hand. He lifted it to his mouth and his lips grazed her knuckles. "My pleasure, Miss Mills."

And when Abbie looked into his eyes again—blue eyes she felt like she'd recognize anywhere, often sardonic but capable of such tenderness—she knew they were both in deeper than they'd ever imagined.


End file.
